White walls. Sterile. Like sitting in an icebox and nearly
as cold as that too, with the air con.

Fran shivered, wrapped her arms around her thin body. There was a picture of flowers on the Clinic wall.
Bland. As neutral as a grey cat at dusk. No fat laughing babies here, no curved
bellies and smiling faces. Just lilies. That's what the flowers were: lilies.
Like a funeral.